


City of Greed

by Vesrimm



Category: Too many to tag - Fandom
Genre: Multi, Other, Uhh massive cluster of crossover chaos ig, cyberpunk / tech noir setting, labeled explicit just in case bc of gore but MAYBE smut lol, so its mine now in rewriting all of it, this was a rp that helped me cope but bad stuff happened
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:28:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29577525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vesrimm/pseuds/Vesrimm
Summary: There's no memory. Only instinct that makes her heart race and tells her that nowhere is safe. Not with HIM alive.// Aka a crossover mess with too much lore and coping mechanisms.
Relationships: OC/Canon - Relationship, OC/OC
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> CH1 Trigger warnings //
> 
> Depictions of gore.
> 
> //
> 
> Hi I'm rewriting this and multiple other things full of crossovers and ocs because uh. I was very attached to four years of hard work that I poured everything into regardless the terrible things that happened to me over the last year and a half. 
> 
> My cities now <3
> 
> //
> 
> Also I wrote most of this on my phone since powers been out in my city for a week ✌

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> EDITED: 3/13/21

Her mind is filled with a thick haze. The sharp pain ringing through her skull and the thick scent of iron that fills her senses. Blue eyes open to the dizzying lights of the city, her head laying on the pavement, soaking in her own blood. Car exhaust and smog barely manages to subdue the metallic scent, and it’s difficult getting her eyes to focus.

Everything spins as she forces herself to sit up. Red splattered across her skin and clothes, originating from a freshly sealed wound on her head. What had happened? She can’t remember. Her memories, her mind -- it’s like trying to sort and piece together broken glass. She can’t even analyze the cracks. It’s disorienting, knowing absolutely nothing yet, some things. And it’s something that drives fear into her heart like a stake.

She looks around and, surprisingly, the bag laying next to her has been untouched. So she wasn’t robbed, strangely though. If it wasn’t a mugging attempt, then was it murder? Is she supposed to be dead, or did she come back from some freak miracle? She contemplates searching through it, but she doesn’t feel safe doing that in an open location, for some reason. What if there’s something really important inside? What if someone sees it in her hands and decides to ACTUALLY rob her?

She furrows her brow, bringing herself to stand with the assistance of a nearby wall. Yes, there’s a part of her that knows she can’t stay in one spot for wrong. Something’s hunting her -- does she still have her memories somehow, locked behind a wall of amnesia understandably caused by whatever the hell happened here.

So, obviously right now, she should focus on getting the hell out of here instead of dawdling trying to remember everything.

She staggers and leaves the alleyway behind. Luckily for her, it seems to be night time. Most of the people are already home or working late night shifts in the office, but her? She’s not too sure she has a place to stay. So she needs to scout some place out. Something abandoned, yet out of the way. A spot to try to gather her scattered thoughts. One direction has more flashy, gaudy lights, while the distance in the other has none. She’ll take her chances out of the light. 

She feels like throwing up. The nauseating dizziness causes the world to spin but she trudges onward, using the walls for support when they’re available and desperately needed. The threat of blacking out inches closer with every minute, but she fights it vigorously as she finally makes it to an area where there’s no lights. Broken and boarded windows, homes left abandoned…

It’s totally illegal to be doing this. It absolutely is. But at this point, she just doesn’t care. She throws her entire weight into a door and forces it open. Her head rings when she hits the floor. Again, she forces herself to a uneasy stand and slams the door shut, twisting the lock shut before turning and stumbling through the house.

It’s full of dust. It’s covered in cobwebs and dirt. The plaster is peeling off of the walls and the tiles are cracked and broken or outright missing. But it's dry. There's no mold or mildew or the tell-tale, musty scent that hangs with it. 

She quickly surveys the rest of the area. Moth eaten blankets, a creaky old mattress… She doesn’t care how trashy it looks. It’s much needed warmth during a cold night, it’s a place to stay. And if anyone else staked this location out, they’d better be prepared to share, because she will fight over a place to sleep. She doesn't need a knife to shank a man in the kidney for trying to steal her spot for himself. Of course, her first goal is throwing open a window and vomiting into the bushes. She’s clammy and downright miserable, and the barely notices or cares about the flower petals in the black bile she sputtered up before she staggers as quickly as possible to the dusty bed and falls into it, praying to god that the frame doesn’t snap under her weight as she rolls onto her back and wheezes.

Fuck. _Fuck._ She feels terrible. She squeezes her eyes shut and pulls the blankets close.

She’s lucky. She’s lucky to survive, to have found this place. She knows. But does she even know her name? Her history? Her favorite things, the things she finds absolutely disgusting? She doesn’t know.

She doesn’t know.

And she doesn’t think she can manage digging through her bag for answers right now. Whatever happened to her, she’s dealing with it _terribly._ Maybe that’s the most normal reaction to being shot and miraculously surviving! Maybe laying in the alleyway for god knows how long didn’t help either! But at least she has a bed and some shitty blankets full of holes to sleep with instead of curling up where she found herself. There is still the concern of wearing the same rain-and-blood-soaked clothes that cling to her body. A concern she shrugs off dismissively, as there's not much she can do in this state. If she doesn't die of hypothermia by morning, and this bout of lethargy fades away, she'll worry about what to do then. 

When she manages to fall asleep, her dreams are a jumble. No, not dreams. Nightmares. They started as flashes of imagesー Faces, scenes, names, familiar yet discordant. And thenー Hands on her body, broken choked screams as scalpels dance across fragile porcelain skin. Words fly from the tip of her tongue as her flesh weeps crimson, hands flexing against the restrains as she looks to a man wearing sharp sunglasses and an even shaper grin, sputtering and begging as the ringing fills her ears and her vision fogs up as a gloved hand reaches into her chest and, pain surging through her whole body in a nightmarish wave of agony and nausea, it pulls out her heart. 

She bolts upright, sunlight burning into her eyes and her hands clutching at her chest. One might take a moment to breathe, think it was just a dream and catch their breathーbut, no, there's far too much tearing through her mind now that it's clearer. Now that she can think. 

Her left digits are cold and hard. A blue-black metal sheen coats where skin should be. She frantically unzips her coat and unbuttons her blouse, discarding all of her upper layers. She doesn't give a rat's ass about half stripping right now. 

Her chest is marred with the scars of a cardiovascular surgery. Other scars dance across her lower stomach, likely from skirmishes in the streets, if her life has been as shitty as she assumes. 

Her gaze darts to her armーthe entire thing is insanely durable metal, with plating and some visible wires in the joints. Blue light streaks along the surface, and while it's intriguing, it generates questions she has no one to turn to for answers from. Especially when she looks to her side. It's almost like there had been skin _over_ the arm, torn off in an accident mysterious to her, with scarring on the very edge where ripped away skin meets metal.

Her lips part to ask a question before closing and thinning into a tight line. There's no one to ask them to. No one to answer her speculationー and even if there _were_ , she can't trust anyone. She knows that. She could be, so easily, plucked up and trapped in a dangerous situation, or used in horrible ways. She can't just divulge all of the information she knows of herself. So she'll have to form a lie. But first, she'll have to finish looking through the bag she awoke with. 

Instead of digging through it, she opens the bag and empties all of its contents onto the bed. An assortment of weapons and tech. Thumb drives, high tech looking phones, cables, various daggers and handguns, cards she can bet carry money. An unusual pair of goggles lay in the middle of it all. Picking the goggles up, she examines them. The lenses seem to double as screens. By reflex, she slips them over her head and around her neck. By activating the interface, a holographic screen flickers in front of her.

<DNA recognized. Access granted.>

<Digivice profile initialized. Welcome back, DANA>

So, this is her's. The security relies on the owner's DNA, so it's not easy to break into. Unless, well, she's not going to bother inventing ways you could circumvent that. 

Instead, she flicks her wrist, calling forth more screens. Yeah… this feels familiar. It all comes naturally, fingers dancing across hard-light, commands and code spilling from her thoughts like a key had been turned and unlocked a fountain of instinctual memory. She knows how to work around this system with insane accuracy and efficiency. She can use that later. Especially to survive while trying to locate her missing memory. 

She put a lot of safeguards up protecting some files. But she can take her own work down to find what she wanted to keep out of the wrong hands. Maybe… Maybe she predicted someone would put a bullet in her.

There. The files have been unlocked. 

But, this is a small victory. A lot of her systems have been… scrambled. Interlocked with herーwith her mind. How, and why? So many things are consumed with scattered, corrupted data. But there's a few that survived. 

<Subject X91023>

<ENFORCER program>

<Digital World>

She reaches out and plucks the first file, opening it on a new screen. She sees her face; more specifically, the face of her as a much younger teenager. Dressed in a blood-stained hospital gown, tears streaking down those cheeks as red, puffy eyes look fearfully at someone off camera. Just looking at the image makes her want to heave. She swallows down the faint taste of bile, shaking hand raising hesitantly and then flicking the screen away. No, she's not ready to look more yet. She knows she was torn apart, but lord, she's not ready for memories to make her stomach burn and her eyes prick with tears and the flashes of being disemboweled playing like a slideshow in her nightmares.

A knock on the door causes her to nearly jump out of her skin. Shit, she's gotta go. No more loitering and squatting. It's time to be on the move, find information, resources, and a new place to sleep. She steals the bundle of blankets for herself, stuffing it into her bag and staggering to her feet.

_"Hey, uh, can you open up? I justーjeez, uh…"_

Definitely a rookie.

She pries open the back window and hops over the windowsill. She lands on the ground with a light thud, hoping its not too loud as she tiptoes through the yard that's nothing more than mud and long deceased grass and weeds. Her focus is _too_ directed on not making a sound. Her body feels used to sneaking, but she's moot. Thankfully, there isn't even a squelch of her boots sinking into mud as she bounds over the broken picket fence andー

_"Heyー!! Wait a minute, you're not under arrest, I promise! Slow down a minuteー"_ Ah, all of the focus on quiet movement and not enough on his.

She's not sure why, but she does stop. Its better to suck up a little, right? She's not sure what her chances are yet, she could get information. At least, maybe bribe a hot meal and a drink out of him. 

She turns to see a young man with deep red hair pulled back into a ponytail. He's barely old enough to be a cop _ー_ though, she can't actually tell if that trench-coat means he's a police officer or not. It's merely the authority that fills her with unease. He's around her age, with hopeful ruby eyes and freckles scattered beneath them on round cheeks. If he _is_ a cop, he's one of those sorts who thinks they joined to make the world a better place (they really don't do that at all). And maybe he really wants to. He didn't go _"You're under arrest for camping in an abandoned house and vomiting,"_ but she feels wary.

She remains where she is, but let's him approach in the very same manner you would a stray dog who could run or bite the shit out of you in a moment's notice, or even roll over and be thankful. Even she's unsure of what kind of dog she is right now. 

"Listen, uh… I know it's technically illegal to sleep here, but I don't care about that. But there was a murder in this area last night that might be connected to the Crimson Order, so if you know anything…" The poor boy blanches mid-sentence, eyes catching sight of the blood-matted hair and her stained clothes and face. She internally cringes, knowing instantly that it'll make her look like that suspect. So, in a quick search for an excuse on the tip of her tongue;

"Don't worry, _I_ was the one who got shot, not the other way around."

The hell kind of explanation is that? She'd smack herself upside the head if she wasn't afraid that'd pop the healing wound like a cork. At least try to salvage it, the rookie is looking mortified and unsure what his little handbooks say about this. 

"I woke up covered in blood with a mostly closed bullet wound on my head. Hiked halfway across the district before I got to this dump and passed out."

She looks down at her muddy boots, her torn up, soiled clothing… and she grimaces. She's a street rat, and he might be a cop. But it's better than running with him knowing a face to report. 

"Dunno anything about what happened before or after I got here," Dana bites back her paranoia and looks up again, "Was too focused on throwing up and finding warm blankets."

"Do youーDo you know who did this to you?" He reaches towards her, so sweet and concerned, but she's the wary dog, flinching back and casting a sharp glare that makes him freeze.

"I can't remember anything. I could barely remember my name, and I'm not givin' that yet."

He gulps, but he seems to understand. They're from different walks of life. He's probably lived a cozy one. Warm food and a home, friends and family, the walls of the police academy were probably exciting. But her? Only a glimpse of those files, the hacking skills her hands remembered, her scars…

Again, she's a street ratーno, more than that, a LAB rat. But maybe she can wring something out of him. Slowly.

She wipes stale blood from her lip, and he searches his mind for something. "I know youーYou don't trust me. I can't do much, but… The station in the Haven district has showers and food. My boss and everyone there, they won't care that you broke in somewhere to sleep. They never do."

-

Icy eyes lock onto him and he tenses like a sheep seeing a wolf for the first time. But if the wolf's fangs were bared before, the snarl was gone down. Instead, he could see her weighing the options. Picking at the dry bloodー food, a shower, he's got a heart way too big. Desna always told him that. But she always said the world needed hopeful folks like him. 

People who gave the rats the city hated a chance. 

He always hated when people called people like her that. Dogs, rats… it wasn't their fault. And even if it was, how many really asked for this? She couldn't have asked to be shot and somehow survive only to have nothing aside from the clothes on her back and her name. Nothing else. 

He could see the peculiar scar peeking from the top of her tank top and the long slash over her left eye, those white pupils dilating for a moment. Almost like those Cephalons, but, they don't bleed red, right? When she finishes tearing him apart with only a look, her shoulders slump.

"Y'all got pain meds?"

"Well, uh, yeah. I'm surprised Feron hasn't mixed any with his coffeeー"

"Great." Her shoulder brushes against his as she shoves past him and seats herself on that bullet-ridden car. It looks like it might've been pretty spiffy, before the bullets got to it. Probably too expensive to constantly replace the dented metal. 

"I feel like a corpse walking the street, so how 'bout you revive me with food 'n stuff, rookie."

His freckled cheeks burn red with embarrassment at that title. "How'd youー"

"Something tells me seasoned cops aren't usually sweet enough for me to trust. I might've ran if you weren't obviously new." She shoots two finger guns at him, clicking her tongue as he scrambles to the drivers side. "Maybe 'cause I'm a street rat."

"I'm _ー_ I'm a detective, not a cop! And, I...I _don't think you're a rat…"_ He mumbles under his breath, unlocking the car and letting her pop into the passenger seat and drop her bag onto her pouch.

  
 _"Thanks."_ She says, looking at him from the corner of her eye. _"Maybe I'm just a very lost cat."_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this on mobile at 2am because my powers still out. 5% battery. Oh god oh fu
> 
> EDITED: 3/13/21
> 
> Think I've scrubbed out all of the cop stuff and changed it to detective. Let me know if I missed something.

Dana takes the time to survey the passing surroundings and make a mental note of every detail. The change of quality in structures as they leave one district and enter another, from abandoned homes and poverty stricken neighborhoods to a stable downtown area. She also notes the locations of things she might be able to use later. It'll be a bit of a drive. Maybe she can get some information. 

"Hey, since I'm the one who had my brains used to paint half of an alleyway, mind filling cementing some answers into where it had been?"

Her bitter joke mixes with a genuine request, but boy, he doesn't like the wording. He conjures up the image and nearly throws up, only barely managing to swallow his pride and grip the steering wheel. 

"YeaーYeah. Did you have to phrase it like that, though?'

A loose shrug. "Probably not. I'll distract your stomach with questions."

But what does she ask? Questions can also give away information. If you ask too much about a mark, they'll know you're looking for it. Or if you ask about an experiment name that's probably top secret and will tip someone else off.

"The Crimson Order." She starts, recalling the name from earlier. "You mentioned that. What is it?"

"A large gang led by a very dangerous and very mysterious person. Only his inner circle has ever seen his face, and that inner circle, the Nine, are also very, _very_ dangerous. We also know next to nothing about them, but they know about our every move…"

His grip on the wheel tenses. 

"Make sure you never get cornered by anyone from the Order."

"Not sure if I'll be interesting enough." Dana muses, looking out the window. "Street rats aren't a viable target. If I had a cozy house and nice clothes, maybe I'd be at risk."

She looks back at him. 

"What's your name?"

"Me? Oh, uh, I'm Rhendon!" He says in a cheery voice. "Do I… get to know your name yet?"

"Maybe after I shower." She shrugs. "I have no clue who to trust yet. Anyone could be out to get me."

"Isn't that a little paranoid?"

"I was shot in an alleyway, Rhendon."

"O-Oh. Right." He squints at the stoplight, drumming his fingers on the wheel. 

"Is it something we can protect you from?"

"Dunno what I'm running from yet." Her lips thin into a line. "Maybe I was unlucky. But I've had this feeling that there's a very powerful shadow looming over me, and I know enough to tell that power can bribe the law."

She casts him a glance. 

"You may be the heart of gold type, maybe you think laws meant to keep the unfortunate down are terrible, which they are. But, people above you can be bought and sit in someone's pocket. You get why I can't sit and rely on you, right?"

The grim expression on his face tells all. He knows. Maybe they've tried to help people in the past, but when they handed them forward for a fair trial, money spoke louder for the judge who's pockets were lined with blood money. 

"...Yeah. I do."

He pulls the car to a stop in front of a neat little building. 

"...What do you plan on doing after you leave here?"

That analytical gaze lands on him again. "What will _you_ do if I tell you?"

"Nothing." He says, ruby eyes full of pity and pain. Pain that he can't do anything for her. Because she divulged enough information to keep his eyes open.

Her jaw clenches as she unbuckles herself and sits up.

"I'm going to survive, Rhendon. Even if it means I have to get my hands dirty. Until I'm no longer a rat or a mangy dog, but a wolf who can fend off my demons."

And he understood. What else can you do in this city? She knows things, even if her memories are foggy. The rich don't let anyone work their way into a safe situation. In fact, she left out that street rats are valuable to gangs. They'll do anything for salvation. Their anger, fear, and pain, it's all perfectly weaponized if they're unafraid of getting their hands dirty for their new family. 

Maybe that was her. Or maybe that'll be her. But right now, they both agree that her oath to survive will not be mentioned in these walls before he leads her into the station. 

"Rhendon, did you get anyー" A girl with tan skin and curly golden hair tucked into a ponytail sits behind a counter, peering over from the computer and mess of phones and paperwork through her round glasses. 

"Oh, good lord, what happened?!"

"He found me in the trash."

"No I didn't! When I was asking around for information, I found her in one of the abandoned buildings. Somehow she survived being shot in the _head_ , but she can't remember anything at all."

"Kinda what I said, yeah?"

Rhendon sighs, shaking his head. "There's not much of a wound, but I wasn't going to leave her out there to starve to death or trudge around in mangled, bloody clothes."

"No, no, you don't need to explain what you did." The girl smiles and stands up. "You did a good thing, Rhendon. I'll talk to Feron, but we both know he'll insist she gets taken care of. I'll be right back."

She vanishes through the door, and Rhendon pats Dana's shoulder, provoking a startled flinch.

"Sorry. Uh… That was Kora. She handles the phone, among other things."

"Seems nice."

-

Rhendon looks at her with a concerned glance. This person, sure, she's got a motivation to go straight to crime, but there's so much mystery around her. The air of someone who would approach it like a very dangerous robin hood. She'd set everything alight for the little people. Or… maybe that's just him being a romantic? She's intriguing, and this city kind of needs people to protect it who will go behind the system she… pointed out has flaws. 

But he doubts right now, he can convince her to be their agent like that. He doesn't know about the detectives uptown, but when he thinks about the police in the richer districts, he shudders. They're the very kind that are very happy to crush the vulnerable. Beat people for being where they shouldn't. He can't blame her resistance to even give her name. And if she's on the _runー_ Good lord, what _had_ happened to her?

When Feron stumbles out, he can see his friend (well, he wants to be her friend) stiffen. He's the head detective, and she's a to-be scoundrel. 

Feron is a middle aged man with dark skin and messy black hair, and probably bags under his eyes if you catch him before his third cup of coffee. But the man likely heard the fact there's an amnesiac who's just barely escaping their teen years, who someone tried to murder and is unnervingly nonchalant about it. But… Rhendon can't blame her, too. Gallows humor. Maybe deep down she's really terrified, but the grim humor makes her stomach it. If only she didn't have to do it when he just ate an hour ago. 

-

Dana has a good feeling she's had run-ins with the law before. She has a feeling she's been a criminal. But if this man recognizes her, he doesn't show it. He merely rushes into the room to see her horrible state and breathes out an _"oh Jesus Christ,"_ walking towards her.

"Sir, she's a little skittishー"

"I can't blame her." He comes to a halt. "I'd like to get a look at what wound if that's alright."

Something about his look is that of a father seeing his child come home, dirty and maimed, but alive. And she swallows her paranoia again, tilting the wounded side of her head upwards a little. 

"...Sure."

She tenses even more at touch. She remembers the hands holding her down as she cried. But those memories were from when she was a kid, right? Breathe. Remember to breathe. Feron's just as tense as he parts her blood-matted hair, his eyes wide. Yeah. She can see off of the reflection in the tinted windows. Though it's closing really well, that shot _wasn't_ meant for her to survive. They needed her dead. They shot point blank. 

_"How the hell are you still alive…?"_

"I've been asking myself that since I woke up." Dana grimaces. "I've been asking a lot of things, actually."

"...Let's get you cleaned up. We'll worry about that afterwards."

A warm shower. Clothes. Food. These things were so alluring that she ignored the gaze the other residents of the station as Rhendon showed her where to go. He scrambled out as soon as he brought a new pair of clothes, because obviously what came next once the bathroom door shut was to strip down and step into the warm water streaming down from the shower-head.

The blood runs down her skin with the dirt and grime. It feels amazing to be under the water. How long has it been? It could've been days, but it's a relief with how sticky she felt. She slathers her right hand in shampoo as she scrubs her scalp, avoiding the wound. It stings anyway. Of course it does, there's _soap in it._ But the pain is dull, bearable. She's felt worse. There's scars on her naked body. She bets she used to have some on the skin of her other arm, but she's also just glad it's waterproof.

She has to cut the mat out of her hair and brush the rest of it loose. Maybe she'll cut it all off later. But just that is fine for now. A terrible haircut can wait until after she's gone so they don't see her lose her last threads of sanity and decide she _really_ wants to set something on fire or something. Dana shuts off the water once all of the suds have been washed free from her body. Drying off and slipping into the clothes Rhendon left for her is sort of liberating. She's glad to replace that coat, the pockets got far too many holes and there isn't even a hood. A black hoodie and white shirt is so much nicer. She'll need to steal some better shoes. Good shoes don't come cheap. 

She steps into the station feeling like a different person, but still on edge. She's not ready to trust everyone yet. The group in the lounge had been discussing something, but as soon as she came into view, conversation dropped and they exchanged glances. 

She sees Rhendon, Feron, and others she hasn't met yet. One of them is a mountain of a woman with golden hair tied into a ponytail and a scar reaching under her eyepatch. Filing up coffee is a leaner officer with red hair that looked more natural than Rhendon's, a short dark-skinned man pretending to be asleep on the couch, and another tall nimble woman with purple hair. This city has colorful hair, anyway. But her little musing is kept quiet as she awkwardly shuffles past the line of eyes locked on her to get a glass of water.

"...So," Rhendon awkwardly starts, but nothing really follows. Until about a minute later, her brows knit together and she mumbles "I feel like a circus attraction."

"I'm sorry." Feron bows his head as she sits down in an armchair with a cup of ice water. "Your situation is just rather alarming to us. The way you were shot…"

"I shouldn't have survived it." Dana bitterly states. "Nobody walks that off. So how did I walk away? I have no idea. Just theories. I was more focused on not throwing up on my own shoes than looking for the shooter."

"Probably a good idea." The large woman crosses her arms. "They would've just finished the job."

"Dunno, maybe their bloody victim coming back would've made them wet themselves." She snorts at her own joke, and she thinks she sees the woman crack a tiny smile for a moment, but dread quickly replaces it. 

Rhendon takes a seat across from her.

"Can you tell us your name yet?"

"I…"

Again, her lips thin into a tight line. "I don't know. I don't know who to trust or how to trust yet. You all seem nice, but…"

Her grip on the cup tightens as her cold hands tremble lightly. 

_"Anyone can be bought, right?"_

Feron looks down at his mug in front of him. "You're afraid that if you trust us, we'll sell you out, correct?"

"Do you know what it's like to wake up barely even knowing your own name, but knowing there's a shadow looming over you from everywhere?"

His gaze meets hers and she instantly looks away. 

"There's something I can't go back to." Why is she telling you this? Just _disappear._ "I want answers, but I don't know how to trust when I know how the city works for street rats, and…"

"And what?"

Rhendon kneels in front of her. She clenches her jaw.

_"And what?"_

_"And lab rats, Rhendon._ Street rats and lab rats."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning //  
> Gore (repeat of chapter one's sequence)  
> Mention of torture and poisoning  
> //  
> Chapter 3 is rather short, but I'm still on mobile and at 8%. Power might not be back for another week. I'm dying scoob.
> 
> EDITED: 3/13/21

Feron stands upright in an instant. 

"I'm going to make the promise right now that if anyone even _attempts_ to bribe someone's safety out of any of us, I will personally be shattering my mug over their head."

Her pale blue eyes look between all of them. Rhendon recognizes it as analyzing, those white pupils adjusting. Trying so hard to read anyone for lies. But, no. The lab rat comment made them look even more grim. Maybe she's not the only one who's crawled out from hell.

"Dana." She sputters out as if she had to force herself to choke on her name. "Don't know the rest of my name. I can't tell you anything else right now. Not that I even _know_ anything else."

"Dana…" Rhendon repeats her name. "By lab rat, did you mean you?"

"Mmm-hmm." She takes a large sip from the glass. "I can't directly remember it all yet, but between nightmares that connect to scars and the feeling of a danger looming over me, doesn't take a genius."

"So hopefully you can understand why I can't readily trust you with my life, right?" Dana continues, fingers drumming the clear glass. "I don't even know if telling you my name was smart. I don't know enough about what bridges to burn and what lies I should tell."

"If you're in danger, wouldn't it be best for you to stay at the station?"

She scoffs, scanning the surrounding room. She has the eyes of a thief. What's easy to break, what's easy to bypass… Maybe she'll make a career of it when she leaves. 

"The entrance isn't reinforced, the walls aren't fireproof, and the security systems are very low-tech and easy to bypass. It's not somewhere I'd want to sit and twiddle my thumbs in case my hunter sends someone who doesn't fear bullets. I need to be constantly moving right now."

"For someone who can't remember anything, you seem to know a lot." The giant with golden eyes furrows her brow.

"Desnaー"

"No, she's right." Dana lightly waves her hand. "I can remember things, but not the way I want to. It's more like instinct. I can look and something and know it'd be easy to hack if you know the right stream of data to flow through with, but I can't remember what my birthday is, or if I had a family, or even what my favorite food is."

The woman, Desna, gives Dana a long stare before conceding. Instinct is something your body remembers. It's in your blood. Recalled without needing to force it forth. It's different from having to remember something for _yourself._ Especially with amnesia keeping an iron grip on your thoughts. On who you'd be if you could recall your motivations, your ambitions, your fears…

"So you're going back out there?"

Rhendon looks like a kicked puppy when she gives a quick nod. Of course she's going back out. She agreed she'd clean up, nab a snack, and then return to the shadows. She needs supplies. She needs weapons. She needs _information._

"Look, if it makes you feel better, I'll call you if I get into trouble that I can't handle." She waves her hand nonchalantly. "Maybe I'll drop by on rare occasion, just so you'll stop looking at me like that."

The rookie's cheeks go flush as she stands and sets the empty cup on the table. 

"I think we'd all appreciate that. There's been… _evidence…_ of disturbing happenings in the city. Things covered up, children being taken, but after the fools in charge forbade anyone from looking into it, we've been having to investigate in secret. You're the only hint we've seen that have confirmed the suspicions of my old friend."

Her demeanor falters as she looks up at Feron.

"...I was an experiment. I saw the serial number they gave me. I think I stole my file."

The detective looks down at the young thief, wrapping his hands around the warm mug of coffee before taking a brief drink.

"...I won't make you show us. If you choose to tell me, I won't put it in any official reports. Or even unofficial ones."

"...I didn't read the files yet. But I remember. Vaguely. If you don't have a strong stomach, you'll want to go step out."

Rhendon straightens his back. 

"I'mー! I'm, uh. I'll be tough."

Dana casts him a wary glance before sitting backwards in a chair (as you do). Her eyes flutter shut and she tenses. 

"They're flashes of memory. I can't stop seeing it since last night. Hands all over me. Shackles keeping me from movingー I had the small frame of a child. The smell of blood. A name I wanted to scream. They didn't bother operating with anesthetics or pain medication. My skin weeps as blade meets flesh. I see my beating heart in someone's hand, and the sharp grin from behind the light. It hurts too much to scream. Even when they raise the bladeー"

She had barely noticed that she picked up the glass until it shattered in her hand. 

_"Shit. Sorryー"_

"Lord, kid, don't apologize for that, you've been through _hell."_

Desna takes hold of her hand and pulls out the shards. It's funny how distant the pain feels. Its nothing compared to… to what? She appreciates the care to wrap the bandages around her hand, but she vaguely sees Feron running his hands down his face and Rhendon not staying tough at all. 

_"What kind of monster takes a kid's heart?"_

"The kind that might be paying the politicians to ignore their actions if they think it's beneficial."

"I hate that you're right." 

Dana watches him and… she feels a little more trust. Just a little. Not complete, but…

"If I… _find…_ anything incriminating, more experiments… I might bring them to you. If I trust you enough and find more on myself, I'll share that, too."

"If you do… I'll turn a blind eye to what you'll do to get it. We can't do anything to look into it right now, but…"

Feron rubs his temple. 

_"You…_ someone anonymous giving us a tip, it's happened before. It was the only way we caught a judge who had been pardoning a drug dealer for a hefty sumー and a few doses of _overcharge…_ "

"...I'll basically be your unofficial favorite thief. I'll do what I need to survive, get my hands dirty, and drop the good dirt in your lap."

Dana stands up, flexing her bandaged hand despite Desna's grunt of protest. 

"Normally, this would be where one of us does the textbook _'don't do crime, that's bad',_ but that'd be like asking you to walk into a bear trap."

"Great analogy, Feron. I would hop over the bear-trap, though. Rules aren't for us rats, right?" Actually, grabbing the theoretical bear trap to use for later would be even _better._ She pulls her ragged coat back on. She'll need that a while longer, just until she can set _something_ up.

"If you need to contact us…"

She taps the goggles around her neck. 

"Don't worry. I got your numbers."

It was disorienting, a little strange, maybe even uncomfortable, but she was able to do a brief bit of hacking within her head. Just to prove she _could._ She prefers her fingers dancing a routine on a keyboard, personally. But the baffled expression on the officer's faces was fulfilling. 

_"Jesus Christ,_ you hacked us without us even seeing? You're something special, that's for sure…"

"It wasn't exactly a great feeling. Screens in my head… your security wasn't very tight, though. You'll want to get better encryption."

"I'll… keep that in mind, thank you, Dana."

She nods, striding across the room to give Rhendon a pat on the back. 

"Thanks. For convincing me to come."

"Do you really have to go?" He sounds like a small child, looking at her with those wide, hopeful eyes. 

"Yeah." Dana says. "And you probably won't see me again for a long while. But you will see me again. I promise."

-

Rhendon watches as she briefly speaks to the others, regards Sans as he continues to pretend to be asleep (complete with a snore! But she wasn't very convinced), and then spoke to Feron on her way out. The way she headed towards the exit, it was like shedding a heavy coat. She walked like a fox ready to slink into the shadows and scout marks in every corner. And maybe she would. 

The scary thing is, she'd be great in an organization they're enemies with. Better than here. The scarier thing is that he didn't want to see her leave. He wanted to hear her crack those gross gallows jokes again. He wanted to hear that sarcasm and snark she wielded like a weapon. But now, with the money for food and lodging Feron handed her, she's out the door, and his heart sank like a rock in a lake.

"...Will she really come back?"

Feron takes a seat, taking a big gulp from his now lukewarm coffee.

"I think she will. She's strong willed and, despite what she says, our security is hardly weak. She bypassed all of my firewalls to get my personal number. She'll likely end up in a gang or organisation… But I weighed that risk."

"And you decided letting her go was _worth_ that risk?"

"Rhendon. I don't like saying this, but criminals will likely keep her safe. They hate authority and can't be bribed by them, and they've been targeted by her mysterious shadow, too."

"But…" Rhendon bites his lip. "What if she goes to the Crimson Order?"

His stern gaze turns to his drink. It's a scary thought for all of them. They've seen what the Nine do. Seerus, the Warmaster, has made his workers use highly unstable prototypes and die if they malfunction, among worse things. Herex has poisoned and tortured workers who disappointed him, as well as some of their missing officers. The others are just as brutal, but the leader…

"That's her business. I just know she'll return with information. You'll get to see her again someday, Rhendon."

But he can tell, in Feron's eyes, that she was familiar to him. It's why he panicked like a father, despite having never had children. Who could she be, under all of that? Is she one of those kids they've been looking for? Perhaps the child of his friend?

Rhendon sits down, running his hands down his face. He doesn't care if she becomes a thief or some criminal mastermind. He just wants her to be safe. He wants to see her again. 

He should… get to some paperwork before they notice his skulking.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This took forever because I couldn't think of a name for someone.

Dana takes a deep breath of the crisp air. It's a little liberating, but she can't stand here for long. She pockets the money and moves on foot. Feron intended for her to pay for a bus ride, but she can’t scout from one. The first thing she wants to find is a good place to hide and sleep. One she can go back to without having to worry about being easily sniffed out. 

The sun barely shines through the haze today, but the light is anything but muted. The impression of it shimmers on the puddles of rain and oil that ripple as she steps through them. The downtown area of this city is neater than the place she passed out in last night. Neon-lit signs accompany the various businesses, but a few choose to use old printed boards to carry the name of the shop.

Taste down here, however, is still subjective. There was worse when she was escorted through the other areaーone she'll call "Lowtown". She remembers run down convenience stores, bars, and clubs she won't touch with a ninety-foot pole in fear of what she might get on her hands. 

Downtown? There are raunchy clubs and bars still, but their walls don't look like a little rain would make them rot. But she won't linger anywhere near them. Restaurants tempt her with the wafting scent of hot food and a little rest, shops littered with baubles and devices she would love to stick in her pocket. 

What she needs, however, is a map. She would like to stop and use her tech to grab one, but the sad part is… She's a little limited right now. She needs to expand her arsenal, and that means shoplifting something rather pricey. So she's scouting a mark. It's risky, and she's not keen on imagining the look on Feron's face if she's immediately arrested and the good detective has to march on over to the jail to haul her ass out. But she's discovered the false pockets in her coat that she can use. The front ones with holes are a good decoy.

Dana's gaze lands on one store, one that seems to be part of a chain, yet down on its corporate luck, likely valued less than the others in its empire. Her target is set. 

Next is a plan of attack. She'd rather not have her face known already. The security cameras need to be disabled before she gets in there, but the shopkeep? Any employees or shoppers? They need to be distractedーor incapacitated. She doesn't have the means to make a flash grenade, but maybe she can overload the screens and speakers in the shop?

She slips a pair of earbuds into her ears. It'll have to do with what little she has and what she  _ needs. _ She'll have a few minutes before the police get notified. Dana sticks to an alleyway across the street as she finishes analyzing. The moth-eaten blankets, with a bit of work, are fashioned into a cloak that covers her mouth and a tattered hood. The flick of a wrist calls her screens, and she gets to work. 

Access. She seeks out the network connected to the security cameras. Instead of disabling them all and causing alarm before she's gotten her goods, she plants a little malware in tree drivers, freezing them all on the same images of the street and store.

Gaining access to every tv screen and speaker is a little more difficult, but when she manages to break through, she sets up a rather… unkind program. Activating it will overload all of them on a frequency humans just can't handle. Where did she learn these skills? She swallows any guilt she feels for doing this to the employees as she steps across the street andー

The shop fills with a bright light. The clerk falls unconscious at the counter, as well as a customer who falls into the trashcan they were dropping a receipt into. Dana flies into the store, nabbing anything in sight. Phones. Laptops. Tablets. Chargers. Batteries. Thumbdrives. Anything she needs, that she may needーand then she bolts out, ignoring the weight on her back as she keeps a gun in her false pocket and darts down a side street.

It's not the time for patting herself on the back. She's heading back towards the wall separating  _ Lowtown _ and the downtown. She can't take a bus and it's a long way across the city, but something about the structure interested her, and she's also carrying about forty pounds of stolen devices. 

She's surprised at how much this bag fits, but she's more surprised that her spine hasn't snapped like a toothpick yet. Dana's up the hill by the time she can hear the distant sirens, and they're going in the opposite direction of where she currently is. No one seems to pay her any mind as she trudges forth, cursing herself for not buying something to eat before doing this. 

_ 'I need to interlink these.'  _ She thinks.  _ 'I need to be able to draw power from my hideout. Maybe if I get that far, I can buy a mini-fridge with someone else's money.' _

The idea of carrying one of  _ those _ all the way back is horrible, though. 

The sun begins to duck behind the buildings when she reaches the wall. The city seems to be built with walls separating the major parts of the city.  _ Lowtown _ (as she calls it), downtown, and the rich, brightly lit quarter…  _ Hightown _ ? It's easy to remember if she marks it like that. Maybe it's already  _ known  _ as that. Who knows. 

But something about the walls called to her. Another thing she knows yet doesn't know? She heads down the steps and keeps close to the metal structure, running her hands across the surface. While she remains alert of her surroundings, she keeps a sharp gaze on the wall. What do these strange eyes see? No indent seems unusual to her along this path in its shadow, but maybe, further ahead…

There's that surge in her mind again. Almost like a scan, and it's disorienting, alarming, yet her thoughts sort themselves out in an instant. There's an empty space behind this wall panel. She grabs ahold with her left arm and pushes it aside, revealing a dark corridor with flickering lights. Looking left and right, she steps in and closes the panel behind her as seamlessly as possible. Then Dana turns, slipping the pistol into her hand and walking into the depths.

She's not quite sure what this place is, but the sense of that "shadow" fell away when she stepped within. Pipes weave along the wall and vanish into the ceiling. The lights imply power. And the archaic elevator at the end of the hallway…

She flips the lever that sends it into the depths. The lift rumbles and creaks before descending. Dana holds the gun close to her chest like a lifeline. She doesn't know what she'll find. A safe spot? A trap? The smart choice might've been to leave the wall alone and find an abandoned building to hide in again. But there's risk in the shadows, and if you brave it, you'll never be found. Right?

This theory is all she can count on, but her "heart" pounds like any other, caught in her throat as sweat rolls down her temple.

The lift comes to a halt and the doors open. 

Not a soul in sight. 

She cautiously steps into what seems to have been a long abandoned workshop. The bed, chairs, and tables have all collected ages of dust. Papers are scattered across the floor, the air is acrid and still. But there's no danger. This place has been locked away from the world for a while. 

Dana drops her bag and blankets on the bed, along with her coat, and works on picking up the papers. There's other doors, perhaps other rooms, but her worry had waned after she saw the state of this place. 

The papers are set in a near stack on the desk alongside books and dead devices that had been strewn about. Someone left in a hurry, and they left a lot behind, yet she hasn't searched their contents yet. Instead she focuses on setting up the stolen computers and plugging them into the blessed outlets she spotted. It'll take some doing to set them up, but it's a start. Someday, she'll exchange all of this for a custom built computer system, but just having these really negates the need for the aesthetic. She still wants it, though. A rat can dream. 

"Well, thank you previous denizen, I quite like my new home." Her voice echoes into the nothing, and she gets to work.

Dana begins with interlinking them and connecting them to the Digivice she sat on the desk in front of her. It's all coming back to her; for the world of hacking at least. She wipes the original operating systems and injects the same advanced network that her Digivice consists of. A hacker's playground. This takes about two hours of sorting the right inputs and scrubbing out obsolete BIOS. With the fresh system ready for her, she begins working on building the system to keep her trespassing from being noticed. 

It helps that she's already got the building blocks. If she had to make her own from scratch in this workshop, she'd go insane. Ignoring the growling of her stomach when the seventh hour passes, she marvels in her handiwork like a child seeing a Christmas miracle. This is the start of it all. Of her rebirth. Of her revenge. She's not ready to read her story, but having your heart torn out and replaced? That's enough motivation. The rest of the story will just give her more, once she's brave enough. Or maybe she'll learn for herself.  _ Remember _ for herself. 

Dana quickly sits upright and starts tapping away at the keyboard in front of her. She needs to get a map. One with high accuracy that she can call upon instantly, but on her own private system as to prevent her location from being leaked from one of those mass data breaches. This requires her to grab some satellite data. It's not too hard, as the entire digital network relies on their activity to transmit at high speeds. That information can then be duplicated and assembled into something useful to her.

As she discovers, the city name is  _ Neopolis;  _ a massive city of three main sectors and their respective districts. There's enormous industrial sites connected to the city by extensive roads, many miles from the city limits. The abandoned sector is on the edge of  _ Lowtown _ and downtown, with a massive overgrowth extending from somewhere, creeping into the abandoned sector and stretching for miles in the other direction. 

Dana marks her new home on her map. This will be her base of operations. It sounds rather silly, but…

She picks up the Digivice and slips it back around her neck, rising from the old oak chair and locating one of the doors she noticed earlier. She expected a little broom closet when she pulled it open, but to her surprise there was much more; this place looks less like a workshop and more like a long abandoned laboratory. Unease twists in her gut for a moment, Dana switching on a small stolen flashlight that illuminates a scene of cabinets filled with chemicals, boxes of strange supplies knocked over, tables covered with various tools. She finds no hints of the torture she endured, which settles that ache a little. It's a perfect inventor's spot, especially if you're working with a mix of engineering and chemistry. 

The next room is full of bookshelves. It's a similar scene to the first room, but even worse of a mess. She steps over the papers, making a mental note to gather them later as she makes her way over to the desk. It's strange to see something so vintage like a study in this place. Someone preferred keeping things on paper and sealing everything away behind metal instead of trusting a computer. You can't hack paper from miles away. 

But even so, they had to flee this place. Leave all of this behind. They might not have even had time to gather their theories and formula, merely take what was the most important and go. She's thankful they did, because it gives her something to do if she needs to lay low for a bit. Dana pulls open the drawers of the desk. There's pens and notebooks strewn about on the inside, most of them full of mathematical drivel. But on the very bottom, there's a leather-bound journal. One she carefully turns over in her hand, admiring the craftsmanship and care put into its creation. 

She sits down, opening to the first page. To her surprise, the final entries have been ripped out and placed in front.

-

_ September 9, 20XX. _

_ It's been seven years since I've gone into hiding, trying to find her. But my luck has run out. They're close to finding me out, and I need to leave before they find this sanctuary.  _

_ Not only do they want me to cease my attempts to save her after I freed her from his twisted work, but they want my knowledge. My secrets. My life's work.  _

_ I leave this log for her to find. If Void answers my damn prayers, she'll find this place.  _

_ If it's you, reading this entry, than I'll pick up on those superstitions from now until the end of time. If it's not, then god is surely laughing on my grave. _

_ Dana; I'm not sure what you'll have gone through after I helped you escape and after we were forced to go our separate ways. You were barely a teenager, terrified and unable to find your father. You were too afraid to return to him as long as Nightmare searched for you and you had no way to protect yourself.  _

_ Do you still have that bracelet I gave you? I hope it helped you a little. Never mind that; someone stole the files on you before I could retrieve them. I hope that was you, but I'll give you the run-down. You need this. It'll be easier than reading what they did to you by his hand.  _

_ What they replaced your heart with is an entity of the Void known as "the Seed". When I posed as one of Nightmare's workers, I wasn't allowed to learn much of anything about it. But what I could learn out here is this; it's a symbiotic lifeform that saved you. It could've chosen to let you die on that table, but it didn't, and somehow, it can grant you powers. That's why Nightmare tried to turn you into a weapon. He stole this entity and saw what the Void did to you when you were lost to its depths for nearly a year.  _

_ You can't let him find you. You can't let him have you again. I leave this workshop to you. I will never return, but I hope if you're the one who found this, you'll make use of it. Save for very key files and inventions, I've left my work for you to pick up. My writings for you to learn from.  _

_ And my advice to you, on my final entry; do not trust these men. Frohd Bek (Business name Beckam), Alad V, Nef Anyo, Tyl Regor, Vor, and of course, Nightmare. _

_ Bek is a fool, despite his powerful company. He might collaborate with Holy Nightmare Co., or he might turn his nose up at having to share profits. He’s gotten himself into hot water before by showing off instead of keeping his investments hidden. _

_ Alad V is unpredictable at times. He'll only do a favor for you if you do one for him; whether he can be trusted during these favors is not something I know. He didn't rat me out when we helped each other, but he did sell me out on something else further down the line. _

_ Nef Anyo is a cheat who will exploit and lie for his greed, which he serves like a god. _

_ Tyl Regor is a ruthless man. Though the allies he stands with are heavily body modified and uneducated (as their leaders prefer), Regor is surprisingly intelligent. He would however, gladly slaughter you for his curiosity about Void that he shouldn't seek. _

_ Vor is rather the same. Disgraced, but when he left the city, he was seeking secrets that'd make his enemies quake and his leaders welcome him back.  _

_ Nightmare… his story may be the worst for you to hear... _

_ - _

She pauses, hands already tense and slick with sweat. She needs to know. She'll deal with the memories if they flash again. 

-

_ He's an extraordinarily powerful man. Something about him seems wrong, as if he's experimented on himself as well. Which would make sense. _

_ He's experimented on every member of his family. His children were the first. Two were deemed rejects and thrown away. One was to be his weapon, his favorite, but defected and left, turning to fight instead.  _

_ And then. There was you. His only grandchild. _

_ I don't think I can stomach saying much else. I was your father's friend. I helped you get used to the powers the Void gave you. When this happened to you, I… _

_ I'm sorry. The perimeter alarms are going off. I have to go now. I left you a gift in that mess of gizmos in the lab; a bracelet that acts as a grapple. An improvement on the first one I gave you.  _

_ I hope I find you someday.  _

_ \- ANDEN DAIZEN _

_ - _

Its like seeing red when the burlap sack over your head has been pulled back. She can't remember  _ anything  _ about her father, her surname,  _ his _ name, but…

Nightmare. She can remember his face now. For a brief moment. That sharp smile, that stupid nose and chin, those  _ stupid glasses.  _ She wants to wrap her fingers around his neck and squeeze his pulse until it bursts. She wants to tear him apart. Sheー 

Breathe. She needs to breathe. Wipe away the tears and stand up. She got here first, found a message to her. A memory. She needed these to survive, and she tucks the journal into her bag, returning to that box of things and retrieving the gift left for her and clasping it around her wrist. 

_ "Thank you."  _ She whispers. 

There are other mysteries about herself that need answers, but its one chip off the block. Now she just has to keep chipping away until she can find the shape of who she is. The list of names gave her five people to avoid, one mortal enemy, and one person she  _ might  _ be able to use in the future, if she plays her cards right. But for now, she returns to her computers, removing her Digivice and wondering just what other secrets it might hold.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Digimon, shoplifting, and befriending a bastard

It's true, when Dana first turned it on, she wasn't focused on everything it did. She saw the files and their protection, realized this could be used for hacking, and she sort of forgot until now. What even is a Digivice, besides some spectacular hackers tool that's connected to her brain? 

She flicks through the menus with a furrowed brow. Files, Inventory, Digimon, Contacts... some things appear normal, except for Digimon. She reaches out and opens the menu for Digimon. 

A system files multiple names, all ending with  _ mon _ , yet two seem to have nicknames, applied by her hand long ago. Chrono and Mithril. Agumon and Gabumon. Whatever they are, they seem to be her's. The option for  _ realize  _ sits beside their names, so she presses it for both of them. Data seems to converge around the Digivice, separating and forming two creatures. They blink, looking around the room cautiously before they spot her, and their eyes light up. 

"Dana! We thought you…We didn't think we'd see you again."

"Might not have if I hadn't been poking around." She admits, rubbing the back of her neck. "Amnesia, and all that."

The two exchange a worried glance. They know what that means; she doesn't remember them, or anything at all. "I see, so that's why…" Mithril, the Gabumon, gulps. "We can try to fill you in on what we are, but the Royal Knights might be the ones who will want to remind you…"

"They can wait!" Chrono waves his arms. "Dana's our tamer, so we should tell her what we can." Mithril seems to find this a sound argument, taking a timid step forward. 

"We're your partner Digimon. You raised us both from eggs when you gained a connection to the Digital World; the home of us Digimon. You raised others too, but you've been our tamer from the beginning. We've been able to help you hack, since computers see us as programs. We're made of data."

"So I've been a hacker forー"

"A looong time!" Chrono pipes up. "You used to be very bad at it, but the longer you had Digimon to help you, the more you learned! The Royal Knights call you the Enforcer or something, but if they show up, they'll know better about whatever it means."

Dana holds her chin in her hands. It's just another mystery, but they're awfully cute. She's got others, too. Maybe they'll be able to help her still. She's got a lot of work to do. 

She dedicates the next twenty minutes to explaining her situation to the two Digimon. The gunshot, Nightmare, and Daizen's note to her. She shows them this place that is now home, a place she will have to build into a better base. All she has right now is a pseudo setup. But they both understand. In fact, they're more determined now, deciding to stay out of the Digivice until she goes into public. Digimon… aren't a common sight in the real world after all. It'd call a lot of attention for her to walk around with them, especially when she starts rebuilding and calling more Digimon out. It's too bad she doesn't have the time to reunite with every single one right now. 

She has to formulate her next plan. 

Dana situates herself in front of the screens, furrowing her brow, ignoring the crashing sounds of Chrono searching for helpful items while Mithril sits with her. "It's hard to know what I should do right now, honestly."

"I can't remember much, but I think you used to tell me that bars in Lowtown are a great place for information, if you still have your fake ID." Mithril suggests, pointing at the menu titled  _ Inventory.  _ "Your Digivice can store real world and Digital World objects within a digital space."

"So, like a video game." Dana stifles a small giggle that swiftly fades as she focuses on scrolling through a list of items. She really could've used this  _ earlier _ , when she was lugging like, forty pounds on her spine. A lot of these items seem to be supplies for Digimon in their fights, but she does locate an item labeled plainly as  _ Fake ID.  _ Perhaps stating the obvious is better than keysmash, which she's sure she did in the past.

It looks like a genuine ID, complete with the holographic seal. Sure enough there's her face, but the name beside it is  _ Fenris Rose.  _ Something thrown together from neat sounding words. But it seems to have been used before. She'll just have to hope no one realizes she doesn't look twenty one at all. Or she can complain about how she got the short draw in the genetic lottery, and make up a story on the fly. 

"Listen to gossip, maybe bribe someone?" Dana muses to herself. She looks at her reflection with a huff, running her hands through her hair. She doesn't look like a Fenris, even with the long scar over her left eye. But this hair, it's a mess. Without a second thought, she flips a switchblade out from her pocket and cuts away at her hair. Chunks cut out and dropped into the trash bin, the end result; a sort of pixie cut. The short style makes her feel better, like a burden has been lifted from her shoulders. "Mithril, can my Inventory fit clothes?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, it can! Why?"

Dana looks at her reflection on the goggles of her Digivice, brushing strands of hair from her tanktop.

"I think I need some new clothes before I go. Department stores line the pockets of some bigwigs, but when you try clothes on, I think I remember you leave them for the employees to gather later. If I pop those into a digital space and leave…"

"... you'll be able to leave without setting off the alarms, and they'd be none the wiser."

"Bingo." She clicks her tongue. "We might be able to get some information by walking the streets, and I can count on you to pop out of the Digivice to fight if we run into trouble."

She doesn't expect anyone working for him to recognize her right away if they pass in the street, but she still would prefer her Digimon know to be ready for anything. There could be trouble from others, too. The agenda of groups that aren't Holy Nightmare elude her, even if she went out on a limb to predict that the Crimson Order wouldn't care to bother street rats.

Chrono comes back wobbly carrying a old flatscreen in his arms, which Dana quickly sets on one of the tables. "Found this in that mess! The wires are frayed, though…"

"Nothing a little tweaking won't fix. Good job, Chrono."

Dana moves her weapons into her inventory, keeping herself from looking like an obvious thief by leaving her bag here. Her goggles just look like a fashion accessory, and a good dousing washes her boots clean of dry blood and mud.

"I'll be sure to get you two some accessories." 

The walk to find a bus station is a little less lonely with the knowledge she's got buddies at the press of a button. It's a small sum to get a bus to Hightown, and she leaves a mental note to hack an ATM to spill its guts on the way home to make up for the loss. She needs food money, anyway. 

Hightown is flashy and gaudy. The most expensive businesses line the streets, buildings with bright lights towering overhead, some connected with sky-bridges. Others are used as massive billboards, advertising jewellery stores, popular drinks, you name it. The image of a woman wearing loose silk, sipping brand soda like it's some gourmet wine causes the hacker to roll her eyes and look for a department store. It's getting late, but she wants to get this done today. Bar's are most active at night, and she wants to look presentable. In the way of looking like a punk adult named Fenris, but other outfits for other occasions? She shakes off the guilt knowing that she's duping some bigwig, arguably less evil than Nightmare but still an absolute bitch who's probably willing to bleed people dry in sweatshops for a penny, while the fat cat fans themselves with that blood money. 

She comes to a stop in front of one of those department stores,  _ Chat Blanc. _ The symbol of a white cat curls around the name written in gold cursive, illuminated brightly by the lights above it. The storefront is set by clear glass panes that reveal mannequins dressed in chic, patrons dressed far better than her shop with an air of arrogance, knowing they possess impossible beauty. She shops with an air of amusement, knowing she's going to rob them blind.

She scouts and sees the dressing rooms function just as she predicted. In the very back, left alone because the Hightown police are just a call away if you try to shove the clothes in your bag and make a run for it; which is why she came without one. No one regards her as anything but a shopper from downtown, maybe with birthday money she wants to waste on overpriced outfits, but the wide selection is  _ why  _ she came up here. They have clothes for people thinking looking lower class is fashionable, neon-trimmed hues on dark clothes, or sometimes just something  _ too  _ clean. Some sections don't even match the white interior at all. 

She gathers a large assortment in her basket, things she knows she'll be taking, and things she  _ will  _ leave in there just in case. Two different black leather jackets are dropped within. One long sleeved, one that's a little shorter, both in its sleeves that reach two inches above her elbow and the body stopping at her high waist. A plain looking black hoodie with vibrant blue interior soon joins the fray with different pairs of shirts and pants, all with movement in mind. The various shoes are either decoy or ones she wants, boots that'll be good for climbing, shoes that are good for both that and running. Most of them are black, save for the pair with neon trimmings. The few accessories join under the mix.

Then, she goes to the changing room. She tries everything on, shoving everything desired into her Inventory, watching in awe as they dissolve into pixels and vanish. She hangs all of the decoys up, but saves the  _ cheapest _ things she can think of buying, so that she's not suspicious for entering with three million things and leaving with nothing. Sure, people go to these stores to pretend they're rich, just for a moment. She shoves a suit top and pants into her digital space in exchange for the cheap black tanktops, and the two blue bandanas for her partner Digimon. She has enough money from Feron for this. 

Leaving the decoys hanging, she leaves the dressing room and checks out, the cashier girl giving a nervous glance at the scar over her eye. Dana waves it off, her excuse being that she fell on a broken soda bottle as a kid and earning a pitied apology from the girl as she rang up her shirts and bid her farewell. 

The alarms don't go off when she steps past the threshold, and she breathes easy. Oh, that was still stressful. Dana makes a beeline away from the store to find a bus. A strange man leans against the stop, rolling his eyes at the gaudy lights. His spiky mess of tan hair is dyed lime green at the tips and burnt in places. His ear has a notch out of it, like a knife slashed through it. Green goggles cover his eyes, but they're still quite visible, as is the nosering he wears. He's got a tiny bit of a beard on his chin, but not much else.

She bets he came up here for a similar purpose, as his shirt, gloves, boots and pants are as dirty as hers were. But there's no mistaking that he's probably a criminal. He looks a little more beast than man with his whole getup. Reminds her of an possum. Or a racoon.

Dana thought she looked away before he could've noticed, but they also spent plenty of time awkwardly standing there in the bright mess of the Pearl district. Finally, he looks over at her and scoffs.

"What's a brat like you doing out this late? Mommy need you to get new clothes?"

One of these types. Goodie. But she's calm, looking at the bag in her hand and then back up at him, flashing a peace sign with her robotic digits. 

"Stealing." Why tell him? Because it's better than being mocked, and maybe she'll learn something. 

"You? Stealing? You're kidding, right?" The man sneers, but pauses as she, with sleight of hand, produces one of the accessories she nabbed. From the digital space, but to him, it was from her sleeve. He howls and laughs, slapping her back with force that nearly topples her over. "Damn, you're actually serious! Don't even need your parents to spoil you, do 'ya?"

Dana winces, slipping the watch back into her pocket. Its for parts, nothing else. But he's still under the guise she's a rich kid. "Don't have any." She states plainly. She's got the hint of a father, nothing more. "I can use the parts in the watch, pawn other things off for food."

Those green eyes land on her face, catching the glimpse of her scar as the light hits her cheeks. He whistles, leaning against the pole behind him.

"Kick you out?"

"Dunno."

"Damn. Mine sure as hell did." He snickers. "Built a bomb in my bedroom and the old man wanted nothing to do with that. But what does he know? I'm now the greatest schemer in this damn city."

The bus is taking too long. He jabs a finger into her shoulder, a smuh grin exposing his sharpened teeth. "What's your story, brat?"

"Still trying to figure that out. You see  _ I  _ got shot." Dana keeps herself from being the smug one when he chokes on his own breath. "Spent last night in a dilapidated old house. Today was dedicated to trying to find things I need." She still hasn't eaten in god knows how long. Only water she got was out of the faucet in her hideout. "Thinking I make a good rat, though. Would kill to eat something, though."

"If it were up to me, I'd drag you to my organization. Need someone new to annoy to death, old one's gotten boring." He crosses his arms. "But that's up to my boss and  _ his  _ boss."

"What's your boss like?"

He grimaces, looking away. "The kind who's gonna know if I  _ blab my mouth off about him." _

"Ahhh…" She draws out her breath like she understands. Maybe she does, but she's more interested in a screen that's called over her hand. It's late, and the bus is five minutes late. Maybe it'll be here soon. This man smells strongly of gasoline and gunpowder. 

_ "At this rate, I'm walking."  _ She grumbles, waving the screen away. 

"Oh, you're not escaping me that easily. I'm going to annoy the hell out of you on the way."

"As long as you don't mind me robbing at ATM on the way." Dana shrugs, watching as he grins at the prospect of theft. 

"We gonna split the goods?"

"Sure, I guess. I just gotta scout a good mark on the way."

With the bus obviously not coming, she beings walking with the obvious criminal behind her. She has no suspicion of him being a danger to her, but she is curious about the gang he's in. She won't pry for answers; she's got the feeling his boss is dangerous. 

Instead, she endures his company. Maybe it's better than walking alone. Maybe bastards like them protect each other from rich monsters who want to kidnap one of them. She won't ask or tell, though. He doesn't need to know the target on her back.

"Ever been arrested?" He jabs another question at her. Usually any answer she gives earns his one of his remarks, and she doesn't get to ask him much. If she does, he looks to the shadows, to something she can't see over her shoulder, and refuses to answer. Which is fair. She doesn't look to see what he's nervous about. 

"Can't remember, but I almost was. Some cop was asking around, wanting to know if I knew of or had anything to do with some murder the Crimson Order did. Had to explain that no, the blood on me was  _ mine. _ "

The way he tensed at the mention of the Order gave her answers he wasn't giving her. The way he looked around, making damned sure they weren't being watched. And then he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into an alleyway, pushing her up against the wall and keeping an iron grip on her shoulders. 

_ "What do you know about the Crimson Order?" _

The bitter urgency is that of someone who thinks they've been found out, but he's only giving her answers. He's a member, and one of the Nine is his boss. She keeps her breathing steady, not trying to shake away. 

"Only what I've been told. I'm not interested in criminal organizations right now. If I need to join one, well, I know yours isn't one with an open invitation."

He narrows his eyes. "How do I know that you're not a nasty little spy sent after me? What  _ exactly  _ do you know?"

"If I was a spy, I would've hacked you from afar. What advantage do you gain telling someone about their organization if you want to gain their trust?" Dana hisses. "I was only told a little bit; a mysterious leader who's only been seen by an inner circle known as the Nine. It wasn't something I cared about; you don't have anything to do with  _ my  _ enemy."

Her left arm is solid metal. There's no skin to strain as she yanks it from his grasp and flips him around into the wall. He's much bigger, making this position awkward. 

"I'll give you a piece of my secrets so you know it's merely a coincidence that we met. The only person I hate, the only thing I want to destroy; Holy Nightmare."

He's surprised by the strength of her grip, unable to move while she keeps her hands around his wrists. He bares his teeth like fangs, but a trickle of curiosity sparks in his eyes when she says that name. 

"What would someone like you have against some bigwig?"

In her eyes, the spark turns to flame. She pulls down her shirt just enough to reveal the scar between her breasts and nothing else. She's released his hands by now, though he seems too busy sputtering to move. 

"He removed my  _ heart _ . I was a lab rat. I have plenty of reasons to want him dead."

He slumps against the wall as she zips her hoodie back up, seating herself on one of the trash cans. Her heart is pounding, but she thinks she did the tough act well.

_ "Jesus fuckin' Christ, did you have to tell me like  _ **_that?_ ** _ " _ He gestures to her chest, leaving the hacker to snort and roll her eyes. 

"Yo, beware the dreaded booba, slayer of the Crimson Order. I showed the scar, not anything  _ else. _ " He's red in the face, hacking and coughing as he tries to regain composure after a hard wheeze. "Look, I'm sorry I made you think I was some police dog sniffing you out, but I only knew you were a criminal, had no damn clue from where. Also I'm very much a bastard who just shoplifted twice in a day. Might be small compared to what you've seen, but I'm like, not on their good side or anything."

He finally stands upright, crossing his arms. "Well, if there's a god, his sense of humor is shit. I'll keep your secret if you keep mine. Don't need to be known this damn fast."

"Don't worry about me, my brain has 0.5 GB RAM, I'm going to forget the moment you're out of my object permanence." This joke sends him doubling over laughing. 

"Alright, I won't blow you up today."

"Oh gee, thanks. That means so much to me." She casts her last remark, stepping back onto the street, knowing very well he was behind her again. Probably really wants to see her hack an ATM.

"There." She points. Across the street is the target. "It's already a ghost town at this hour, but let me check for security cameras real quick."

He watches as she pulls up the screens, squinting as if he was trying to understand, but he has no goddamn clue what anything means. She locates and disables the hidden cameras with the help of her Digimon before she crosses the street, slipping a USB drive into the machine and writing a wall of code. The poor ATM's hardware chugs, backing up as the machine sputters and sputters out it's contents. 

They both grab what they can, agreeing that since she did all the work and he was her annoying chaperone, they're splitting the goods and getting out of there before a maintenance guy comes along and calls the police.

They're about ten blocks away by the time they hear the sirens, snickering and making their merry way to Lowtown.

"Alright,  _ this _ is where we part." Dana pokes his shoulder. "If anyone knows where I'm hiding out, I'm  _ fucked _ ."

"Well, that's good, can't be leading you to  _ my  _ door either." He rolls his eyes. 

"Try not to get arrested." She waves a hand before slipping out of sight. She tries to cover her tracks, take dozens of unexpected turns before arriving at her secret entrance and making her way back down the lift and back home. She's gotta change before she experiences Lowtown's night life.

She'll bring her weapons, for obvious reasons. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dumb non binary meets a thief and also gets a lil fucked up

She adjusts her leather half-jacket and ruffles her short hair. She looks like a troublemaker, her metal arm exposed, tank top showing a scar instead of cleavage (she has none), her new black pants made for maneuverability, and her boots for getting the fuck out of there. Dana tries to settle into feeling like a Fenris. A wolf among sheep? A wolf among wolves? Wolf in sheep's clothing? She could scramble for the same metaphor with little tweaks, but she feels more like a sheep in a cheap Halloween store wolf costume. She eyes the bars skeptically, deciding to speedwalk past the ones with signs that read _'XXX, GIRLS_ ' and the like. A strip club isn't anywhere she wants to be. 

She sees one in particular that seems to be popular, _The King's Tavern._ A tall fat man stands next to the entrance, an eyepatch over one eye and a bandanna covering the top of his head, reminding her of a pirate. Must be the bouncer. She flashes her ID to the man, who looks her up and down as she clenches her jaw and crosses her arms, positioning herself so the scars and metal are noticeable. Minors don't have these, right? He squints, but returns her ID and ushers her inside. 

It's a sea of faces, the sweet stench of alcohol and the buzz of chatter, laughter, and drunken singing. It really is like a tavern. She has Chrono and Mithril trying to sort anything useful out of the rabble of conversations as she sits down and asks for a cider. It's the weakest drink she can think of, and she's not interested in following laws when she lied to get in. She doesn't wanna look like a kid. She might be at least seventeen or eighteen. Under the drinking age, but who needs to know?

DanaーFenris stares into the amber colored liquid before taking a swig. It's like angry apple juice. It burns like cough syrup, but worse. The only thing that makes up for it is the taste of apple cider-- if apple cider was a bit more sour than sweet. She can survive this, but swirls the glass around and watches the icecubes within melt with feigned curiosity. Well, she's done it, boys. She's broken the law.

"You don't seem to be from around here, my dear."

She places a hand over the top of her glass and looks to the right of her. She's met with golden eyes. A pale young man with silver hair, tied into a long ponytail with a crimson top hat. He wears a tailored red vest and brown dress-pants. Surely fancier than anything in Lowtown, complete with a cane that he taps the floor with. "Those clothes are new, but your face says you're looking for a mark. You wouldn't come down to Lowtown if you had a choice. Am I wrong?"

Fenris looks him over with a frown, a sigh leaving her lips as she takes another sip and tries _very_ hard not to gag. "Heh, that easy to read?"

He takes the seat next to her, pointing the top of his staff at the glass in her hands. "You're not used to liquor; which is fine, of course. But it tells me that you drink it to avoid looking out of place. Looking for something?"

She resigns from this demeanour, lazily swirling the drink. "Information. I'm horribly lost in what to do so my friend told me bars were a great place to pick up tidbits. Didn't realize I'd be the one getting sniffed out."

The man chuckles, waving the bartender away as he focuses on her. "Don't feel bad; sniffing out clients is my job. I'm the person you're looking for. You want information? Follow me to the second floor."

She blinks, watching him stand and vanish in the crowd. She downs the horrible drink and scrambles up the steps. 

It's tidier up here, multiple rooms for private parties, closed with the muted sound of conversation. Save for one, where the man in red sits. She enters and shuts the door.

"Daroach." He introduces himself, placing a hand on his chest. "And you are?"

"...Fenris."

"Your real name, dear. I promise, I'm not going to sell your secrets."

He's good. Really good. Her shoulders drop as she flops down on the sofa in front of him. "Dana." She sighs. "Don't know my full name."

"Dana." He repeats the name, as if savoring the way it rolls off his tongue. "A charming name. What's a young person like you looking for out here?"

She leans back, letting out a long sigh. "I lost my memory. I have vague knowledge, like of one person I hate and things that draw me in, but…" Dana drums her fingers against her leg. "I came hoping to find ideas, leads. I don't even know the questions I want to ask. There's so many."

Daroach strokes his chin. "Your memory? Do you know how?"

"I was shot in the head." She winces at how _bluntly_ she put it, especially when his eyes widen.

"How on earth are you still alive?"

"IーI don't know? I woke up in my own blood and felt horrid by the time I found a place to sleep. Now I'm here, I guess." She gestures vaguely, exasperated. "I know I'm in danger. I don't know whether I should ask for dirt on my enemy, or on something that'll give me answers about myself."

"Unfortunately, I don't run a charity service. Information comes at a high price. It's the expenses of my work."

"How much?" Dana asks.

"Around a thousand, give or take."

She tenses. High numbers, higher stakes. It's too much right now, she doesn't know how to hack into banks and bill other people mysteriously. She's only got enough from the ATM for food and supplies. But for this? She squeezes the fabric of her jeans, gritting her teeth.

"Since I'm dirt poor, what about a trade?"

Daroach quirks a brow, leaning forward as she barters with a proposition, instead of haggling like many do. Then again, she's not knowledgeable about business practices. "A trade?" She nods after he asks, and he gestures for her to make the offer.

"Ever heard of Subject X91023?"

He frowns, folding his hands together with his cane on his lap. "Nightmare's missing pet project? The files went missing long before Doc and I could get our hands on them. You're not telling me that _you_ got to them before I did?"

"When I woke up, I had the files in my Digivice." She turns over a shaking hand and reaches into the air, submerging it into a mass of pixels as he watches, intrigued. Dana pulls out a folder, branded with the stamps of Holy Nightmare Co., signed with Nightmare's personal signature. His eyes grow wide as she strides across the room, taking the files as she surrenders them to him. She has the digital version, anyway. Data she must've stolen, then erased.

Daroach flips through the pages. The information there like a holy grail, but he only looks disturbed, horrified as he reads the details, even those she hadn't dared to examine yet. Then he flips back to the front, to the face of that child. He looks at it for a long time before his eyes snap to her and he drops the folder. _"You're…"_

He quickly ducks down, picking up the files and returning to his seat.

"You've more than paid for our next few meetings, my dear. What do you want to know?"

"Three things have been prominent to me. Nightmare, Void, and Daizen." Dana holds up three fingers. "Nightmare did this to me, and I'm not safe until I know how to avoid him or deal with him. Void is something I've heard multiple times, having some strange connection to me. Daizen is someone who seems to have my best interest at heart, having left a lab for me to hide in and a journal."

"You're looking into dangerous things, yet I suppose I can't blame you. You can't be safe from an enemy without knowing it and yourself, is that correct? As for Daizen, that's a name I haven't heard in some time." He shakes his head. "Came to me for information plenty of times, but he went deeper into hiding years ago. I can tell you who he was, though."

Daroach stands and looks out the window. "Daizen was a researcher, heading the field focused on the Void. Even created the Cephalons, an invention meant to help people. He was a prodigy of the scientific field, no doubt about that. I remember him mentioning you on one of his visits, I believe." He taps his chin, looking over his shoulder. 

"Do you know how to use those strange powers of yours?"

-

The question left a befuddled look on her face. The file clearly detailed that, due to her unusual Void exposure, Nightmare had grown interested in her. The power to bend the world around you and vanish from sight and sensor alike, to dash through Void to blink from one place to another or through things, to thrust a burst of that very same energy, or use it as a powerful beam… Nightmare wanted to cultivate that in a weapon, along with whatever the "Seed" may possess. But she remembers none of it.

How did she get to be so exposed, anyway? He knew of the Void, but not much else. He's no scientist. He's a thief. He just found a way to make a lot of money doing what he does best, and sometimes the police completely leave him alone. 

"...No." She finally speaks, mouth thinning into a line. "I just know how to hack and steal in a non-conventional way. But I haven't experimented with how much crime I can successfully pull off like that yet."

Dana's a little mystery. No memory, but she can hack. She stole her own files, presumably long before she got shot. A missing arm, powers she can't figure out how to harness, and no direction. He's not sure what he can really help with, aside from maybe giving her ideas on where to look. 

"I do remember where Daizen's old lab is. You might find some answers there. It's where he researched the Void, with other equally brilliant scientists who could prattle on and on until my brain melts." Science is for Doc, and he'd gladly join in on that prattling. His old grandfather might even like to meet her, and decide that he too will want to set Nightmare's favorite lab on fire. But, now isn't the proper time to introduce her to his family. They've only just met, though she is intriguing. She decided to trust him, a man who read her like a book. She could've left to scrounge up money, or just plain walk out on him, but instead she gave him her biggest secret. Dana had no clue that he wouldn't sell out his clients.

Daroach holds out a piece of paper with an address. The location of that old lab. Littered with _No Trespassing_ signs, but he knows she won't care. She blinks and examines it, and instead of pocketing it, she places it in that strange pocket of data. It's a peculiar thing to witness, but those goggles seem to be the source. No doubt keyed to her, somehow. 

She searches for something on a holographic screen before mouthing an _'aha'_ , and scribbling down a sequence of numbers. "I think this is the number to contact me through my Digivice?" She furrows her brow, clearly hoping she's not _wrong._

"I'll begin looking for answers to your questions, Dana." Daroach takes the paper and shakes her hand. "If you ever have the need of my services again, just come up the steps. Don't bother subjecting yourself to drinks you don't want. Tell the big guy out front you're here to see me. Storo's got a big heart, really. He's not even really a bouncer, but the tavern owner pays him on days they're expecting trouble. Tonight's particularly active."

"Oh, that's great. It was like drinking really bad cough syrup." She shivers, and Daroach chuckles at her joke. Deeply traumatized, yet she'll still crack jokes. He truly hopes she'll come back again. 

"A pleasure doing business with you. Please, come again soon." Daroach bows, earning a small smile as she disappears through the door. He makes an effort to ensure these files are secured. No one will get their hands on her secrets. Not if he can help it.

-

It's midnight by the time she leaves, and fear is making the hair on the back of her neck stand tall. She's got a switchblade in one palm and a gun on standby to be yanked out of her inventory. She'll have to get used to walking through the streets at night for her hunts; but tonight is far from that night. 

She can tell when eyes are on her, and she can't return to her base like this. Be it Nightmare's men, or someone preying on a lone soul, she's being hunted. She can't go back to the bar, there's nothing anyone there can do. She can't call the cops, she needs to get back to her base. Lose them somehow. Or kill them. 

Those special eyes track movement in the shadows. Two men dressed in black, broad shouldered and obviously trying to be concealed. Maybe she should've gone to the bar when she had an annoying chaperone. It's gotta be Nightmare's men. He must've seen her in Hightown, saw her at the station for Lowtown busses…

Teaches her that she needs a face mask. He must remember his granddaughter's face, even all grown up. Sent them to wait. They clearly didn't go to her home, so they don't know where she lives. If she can lose them…

Her ears pick up rushed footsteps. Behindー!

Dana twists on her heel, slashing at a tall men dressed the same of the others. The serrated blade carves a line across his face. He screams and staggers, and she swings her left fist into his jaw with a sickening _crack_ , giving no warning after he falls to stomp her boot down and shatter his kneecap. Her hands scramble to his pockets, swiping his wallet and tablet, turning to where the others had been. Where are they? She feels they're still here, and her senses are keen, heightened as adrenaline pumps through her veins. Fight. Fight. Kill. Fight.

She considers ending the life of the man writhing on the ground, but she leaves him like that as a warning. No words will get through to him. If they will, well, she's not in the position. Dana just hopes her "buddy" from earlier could hear that scream and will come running to help her kill them or chase them away. She can't run, they'll wait for her. Hell, they might be waiting elsewhere, too. If she tries to escape one way, they'll be at the exit. 

She's a rat. They're the cats. But what they don't know is that a cornered rat can slaughter their feline hunter if pressured enough. She's not a defenseless little kid.

One of the men darts out and grabs her arm, trying to subdue her. She _yowls_ in rage, hoping to make the biggest damned scene to wake everyone up in these slums.

_"Let go of me! Fucking let go, you monsters!"_ When he covers her mouth, she bites down _hard,_ blood filling her mouth as he rips it out of her hand. She acts fast, shaking him in the stomach and slashing before trying to round another corner. Mithril and Chrono realize in time to tackle another man to the ground and knock him unconscious as his skull slams into the edge of the sidewalk. 

The cost of making a scene is alerting the goons. But they look wary now, blood dripping from her hands and mouth like she's some kind of vampire that's also a really messy eater. She's not sure how to shoot a gun, but when one of them rushes at her, she pulls a pistol out of nowhere and shoots him in the kneecap. He falls to the ground, holding his knee and crying.

_"Get away from me!"_ She roars. _"You're monsters! All of you! You gut children, you kill them!"_

Maybe they don't kill them, but a part of her died on that operating table. The part that would've been shaking and horrified at the prospect of causing others pain. She's also just yelling anything to get attention now. God be damned if she has to explain self defense of incapacitating these men and leaving them for dead. She can always raise the defense that these men want to return her to the experiments. 

"Your grandfather just wants you backー"

_"My grandfather cuts open twelve year olds and servers their hearts, shut your fucking mouth!"_

The temptation to hurl in a bloody threat bubbles down in her throat as Chrono spits a ball of flame at another man who rushed at her. The only positive side is that she's culling some of his workforce. 

A few of them charged through the fray, tackling her partners down and risking the volley of gunshots she sent their way. She no longer aimed to incapacitate, but a pair didn't fall. They grab her arms and pull them behind her back. She shouts and bites and _yells._ Screams only form as broken chokes, but she's loud when she shouts, calling for help, calling for _anybody._ She fights when they inject burning liquid into her veins. The Seed seems to be forcing her to stay awake, helping her. She wishes she could thank it, but her body feels like it's on fire, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes as she rasps another plea. A knife is shoved into her side, barely missing any vital organs but weakening her terribly as blood drips onto the ground.

_"H...Help…"_

She can't go down like this. Her Digimon try to struggle free, but they can't. One of the men fishes out another syringe from his coat, walking across the asphalt. 

Then the street explodes with green flame. She recognizes the howling laughter as a figure emerges from the fray, a large object on his back, connected to a torch in his hands. He has no quarrels with turning these men into burning piles, and despite her agony and blurry vision, Dana swipes the syringe and sticks it into the neck of her would-be-kidnappers, shanking the other one the same way he did to her. 

She takes two steps forward before she falls into someone's arms. She recognizes the face through vision full of black spots.

"You look like shit." He states.

_"Feel like it."_ She wheezes. Even touch burns horribly, and she tries to grab onto his shoulder and stand. He grunts, scooping her up. 

"Nuh-uh. I've seen enough people get poisoned and stabbed to know you're not going to get where you're going."

Dana stares out at the bodies, the few men who might not make it through the night… and she doesn't care. They got what was coming to them. 

_"Guess you heard me?"_ She wheezes. Gotta stay awake. Can't die here.

"You're _really_ loud." He makes his way away from the scene and through the streets, going as fast as he can to a run-down, yet populated area. "Actually, my boss wanted to know what the hell was going on and told me to deal with it. Didn't say how, and I'm not done torturing you with my brilliance."

_"Better you than the cops. Oh yeah officer, I brutalized a few guys because they wanted to kidnap me."_ Talking hurts, but she forces it with every breath. 

"I found your first victim, then I heard you yelling for help. Good job with that guy, thought one of _our_ guys did that."

_"I apparently get very brutal when scared. I don't think I needed to kneecap him, he was already down."_

Her eyes begin to close, and he shakes her shoulder, rousing her before she dozes off. "No falling asleep on me, if I wanted to leave you for dead I would've left you back there, so don't go dying in my arms."

Dana squints, trying to think of a good comeback but ultimately deciding that bloodloss fried her brain. She looks back at the flame and the distant call of sirens, but the scene fades as he kicks open a door and steps into a very, _very_ messy house. It's a workshop, multiple robotic projects thrown about and stolen items being broken down for parts, repositioned into homemade bombs and various devices. 

He sets her down on a couch, ripping up some cloth and pressing it to her wound.

_"Jesus Christ, neither of us can afford a hospital bill."_ He grumbles, sweat rolling down his forehead. _"If only that old lady could treat people outside the Order…"_

_"My Digimon can… hold the cloth."_ She rasps.

"Your _whatー_ Oh holy fuck."

He instantly surrenders the job to the Gabumon, who keeps a firm grip on the cloth as it slowly dyes red.

_"Hold on, Dana."_ Mithril urges. _"You're going to make it through this. We've seen you go through worse. Yggdrasil didn't name you the Enforcer for nothing."_

"I'm not going to ask what that title means, or what the hell a Digimon is." The arsonist states, likely googling _'How to stop someone from bleeding to death on my sofa'._

_"Nightmare is a piece of shit."_ Dana hisses. _"Fuck Hightown. Why'd I go up to Hightown? Of course he has a presence there."_ She tries to keep an iron grip on the couch, focusing on the sensation to keep her awake. 

But it's not working. She's cold and clammy and the room is fading in and out. She hears him shouting something, and she mutters something incomprehensible before blacking out.

  
  



	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heal up and then go to cyberpunk Winco for food I guess, bitches gotta eat

The smell of smoke fills her nostrils. She hears swearing as someone fans a smoking invention and curses the fuses for blowing again. Then Dana remembers what happened, and feels the tight bandages around her waist. She lifts her head and feels a hand on her shoulder.

"Don'tー Don't move quite yet." A soft voice urges. Her eyes open to see a soft face beneath a hood, green eyes peering at her, a few stands of chestnut hair in front of their face.

"I'm Gadget." They explain softly. "Razwog bullied me into coming, though I'm glad I got here in time."

"Gadget…" Dana wheezes. "Did you save me? Thanks. I owe you one."

Gadget's cheeks burn as they sit back, tapping their fingers together. "W-Well, I was a medic before I was transferred to work underー" They pause, looking terrified. "ーOur...Our boss."

"Still, I owe you. Neither of you had any reason to help someone outside of your group."

"I wasn't just going to leave you like that, even if he bullied me into coming here. We… don't really get along. At all. But you were worth coming here for."

She didn't think anyone in the Order could be kind. That bright blush returns when they think about their words, and then they quickly focus on something else. "Luckily they missed your organs. The worst part was the bleeding and getting the wound to close. The poison wasn't lethal and is almost out of your system. Seems it was made to incapacitate, but from what I heard, they almost needed two doses. It's a borderline paralyzing agent that also acts as a sedative. You were really strong."

"Might have to do with what Nightmare did to me." Dana admits, flexing her fingers. "Didn't want those guys following me to my hiding spot, so I tried to lose them. Then I raised hell, trying to get someone to help me deal with them."

"It should be safe… for a while, anyway. Usually their leaders learn that sending their grunts into our territory never ends well. If you're lucky, just sending that many people in alone will get our bosses irritated enough that they'll strike them in a weak-spot as a reminder."

Gadget rubs their arm. Clearly they don't know what else to say to comfort her, but they're surprised when they see a small smile creep onto her face.

"Thanks, Gadget."

They chuckle sheepishly, opening their mouth to say something before a loud crash is heard of Razwog tripping over his construct.

"You!" He points at Dana. "You're not dead!"

"Physically, anyway." She gives a thumbs up. "I dunno when I'll be off your couch and back to my hunt, though."

"As long as you don't tattle, we're fine." Razwog crosses his arms. "You know more than you should."

"I owe both of you my life, so I'm guessing that extends to the Order. No tattling from me." Dana rolls her eyes.

He huffs, wiping black grease from his face with a towel. "Think you can help me with this damn construct as repayment? Every time I replace the fuses, they blow."

"Are the fuses actually designed for the voltage it's requiring, or are they being overloaded? I saw you use a lot of borrowed parts. I don't think the guts of a toaster is readily equipped for a robot. Either find a way to fit it to be able to pull that much current, or find a stronger one."

He squints, and then vanishes to tinker around again.

"Hopefully you can get out of here soon. You heal surprisingly fast, but your body still has some work to do before you can move without re-opening the wound."

Dana nods to Gadget as she closes her eyes. She's curious about the Crimson Order; she lied to Razwog about having to interest. But wouldn't anyone be? A mysterious leader, a dangerous inner circle… they both seem to fear whoever they're working for. Like he's always watching, always waiting. Or maybe he has eyes everywhere, who report to him. Maybe she's been watched, too. She doesn't know. But if he was an ally of Nightmare, she wouldn't be laying here. He would've ordered Razwog to keep out of that business.

But even if she's curious, she's not going to dig up dirt and track unwanted attention. Hacking them would be a very, very dumb mistake. She doesn't need more enemies. She needs more allies. She's at least acquainted with two members of the Crimson Order, but there's not much she can do with that. In fact, she expects to never see them again when she's free to go, unless by chance.

Chance also made Razwog have to deal with whatever mess was going on outside, instead of the police. She's not sure they'd understand that she was perfectly justified in killing those men. If any survived, they won't be able to speak of what happened. It'd mean blatantly lying (they're dressed for subversion, carrying knives and poison for sedation), or admitting that they were trying to kidnap someone. Maybe they'll rethink their career choices in a hospital bed.

Daizen's lab will unfortunately have to wait a while longer. She's apparently cursed to bed rest until she's no longer at risk of bleeding all over the floor.

Opening her eyes again, she flicks up one of her screens to use as a smartphone, holding the hard light in her hand. She swipes through lists of articles, trying to see if there were excuses for last night.  
'... the police arrived at the scene of what we believe may have been a fight between two of the gangs, though this is only speculation. The police claim the bodies bore no identifying insignia or tattoos. The area is still being investigated as of 11:35PM today.'

She supposes in this area, that's one of the easiest theories to churn up. It takes her a moment to remember she made an effort to loot any man she downed, and she mutters something to herself, reaching a hand up and startling Gadget as she pulls something out of nothing.

"How did youー??"

"Digivice." She explains shortly. "I can shove stuff into the Digital World for safekeeping."

They stare with eyes full of wonder as she powers on the high tech tablets. They're password protected, but what's a password to a hacker who simply doesn't care? She bypasses it within a few minutes, given they're not even the scrambled, unpredictable kind. Short and simple, things familiar to the culprit's memory. She disables any tracking and location data for the current area, as her suspicions are already correct. The background is the logo for Holy Nightmare Co., the shape likely being him in some strange getup. Instead of glaring at a symbol, she begins digging into the files and applications.

They have work emails. Documents. Orders. She whispers 'bingo' under her breath, as the owner of this device made it easy by leaving himself logged in before disembarking on a quest to get slashed by an angry teenager. Maybe she can give this information to Feron…

No. No, she'll hold onto it. The detectives could use this, that's true, but showing up with blood on your boots and stolen information moments after bodies are found in the street, surrounded by copper scented inferno… It'd be obvious she was involved, and she'd have to explain the kidnapping attempt and that she was rescued, risking the disclosure of Razwog. Play your cards close to your chest, little rat. She'll gather more over the next year or two, and then drop them on Feron's lap so that there will be too many questions for a man to ask.

The emails, as she regains her train of thought, share correspondence with someone called 'Customer Service'. From what she can tell, he deals with the orders from Nightmare. The most recent email is titled 'Capture'.

  
_'Nightmare has authorized you to use lethal force when capturing X91023. Try not to be too trigger-happy, though. If they're killed, they'll come back and have no trouble wiping your team out. Use the injection to subdue them. Our scientists can deal with their wounds when you bring them back._

_Obviously, you will not be paid if you fail.'_

She glares at the words, but she has an answer; she didn't survive the gunshot. It didn't just scramble her, it killed her.

Unfortunately, there aren't too many emails that point her to anything useful. This guy was newly hired for capturing subjects, though he'd supposedly been sent after others that escaped with her… with little effort. V66124 and Y31602. There are no other details on them; not in the emails, anyway. She downloads the emails and all of the files. There are things she wasn't meant to see, and she's keeping that for herself. Then Dana digs through the wallets. Most of them barely carried anything, but the ones who left a debit card… she'll yank that money before their accounts are closed.

Maybe there wasn't a ton of information, but she does have something now. Maybe she can try, from a location she can flee from, to hack into Holy Nightmare Co.'s database using the account information she's secured. She won't do it from her new home. The risk of being traced… it's too terrifying a thought after last night.

Dana returns everything to its place and returns to laying rather pathetically on the couch. A quick glance in Razwog's direction has driven her to the quick decision that she should sleep this off. She's not particularly in the mood for banter, or searching her mind for snarky responses. Her eyes flutter shut, and she falls silent.

Dreams come as foggy flashes of memory. She remembers being very young, sitting on a table in some sort of lab. She remembers a man with dark skin and golden eyes, long brown hair tied back into a ponytail. He wears a white lab coat and asks her questions, asks her to do things, but she trusts him, somehow.

He seems to know why those blue particles dance around her hands. Why she can do strange things. Why a voice won't go away. He speaks of the accident. The vague memory of being very alone and very scared follows suit. She hears a voice whisper a rap, tap, tap. When she looks to it, she sees herself in a mirror. Those are not her eyes.

And then she wakes up.

The pain in her abdomen has dulled greatly, and she's able to sit up now. Gadget jumps up to protest, but when they see there's no new blood on the bandages, their shoulders drop.

"OhーThank god, the stitches are holding." They breathe out. "I… I think you're good to go, as long as you don't do anything crazy."

Dana rises to her feet. She's a little wobbly, but no more worse for the wear. She quickly puts her boots and jacket back on, brushing herself off.

"Really owe you one, Gadget." She smiles, the former medic's cheeks flushing as they dip their head. She steps into the front room to see Razwog now working on a bomb.

"You moved onto another protect while I slept?"

"The great Schemer Razwog stops for nothing." He snickers, but she has a feeling he's got a lot of work to do and had to do it regardless. She rolls her eyes, shaking her head.

"Thanks again for saving me. I'll keep your secret and whatnot, but I'm going to go get food and a mask."

Razwog looks up at her for a moment, before quickly returning to the mess of wires. "Good, don't go blabbing about what happened!"

She waves to Gadget, who's gathering their things before she steps outside and hurries down the street. Food or any shop that'll have a mask, whichever one comes into view first, she's stopping at one. Dana avoids the streets she sees police tape surrounding and heads up to the downtown districts. She makes a few rounds before finding a shop with face masks, which she quickly purchases and slips over her face before walking back into the street. She'd want a better mask for crime later, but this black face mask with a white X was good enough.

Now… she needs food. She has no clue when she last ate and she was so focused on being interrogated when she was at the station that she forgot to swipe their food. The old fridge in the base has power, and the freezer got coerced into functioning before she left last night. Groceries with the stolen money will be her goal today. She can load the cart, buy all the food, and then go behind the supermarket to stuff it all in her Inventory. Maybe it's supposed to be used for better things than shoplifting, but she doesn't have a car or a friend to drive her to a completely secret location.

Dana makes sure to keep an eye out for anyone that makes her hair stand on end. Thankfully, everything seems peaceful down here, so she crosses the street to the large concrete building, grabbing a cart from the entrance and hoping nobody notices the dry blood on her shirt and the bandages peeking through.

By the time she's dropped three chef's salad kits in her cart, she's pretty sure people are staring. She's ignoring it, getting anything she thinks she'll need, even dragging the cart down a few non-food aisles to grab an electric kettle and assorted useful goods. The checkout process is full of annoying questions, like what the hell happened ('Some guy tried to mug me.' She explains shortly), if she needs assistance going home, all the things she lets the cashier down on. She shoves the goods into a digital space before heading home as quickly as possible.

Thankfully, there's no trouble on the way back. She's entering the lift and heading to the lab's kitchen, having only just heard the police sirens start as she closed the wall. A mental note is made to make that into a door that requires a special key.

Dana wipes off the sweat on her brow after putting everything away. It's sure been a week, and it's not even over yet. She shakes her head, stepping back into the main room and finding the location of the lab.

The abandoned district. It might be easier to go through, it might be more perilous. Maybe down there, at least, she can call the downtown police. She doesn't trust them completely, but they'll keep her from being nabbed. Hopefully.

"You plan on going there today?" Mithril peeks over the edge of the table. She sighs, shaking her head.

"I'm going to sleep first. I spent most of that time crossing the city and sleeping on Razwog's couch. Tomorrow I'll snoop around."

She can't do everything in one day. She'll have to sort everything into sizeable chunks to bite off. There's a setup she wants to build for stealth and theft, but she'll need to go to the hardware store and varying different chemical supply shops. But that'll be lower on her list. Today, she got supplies out of the way for food and drink. Technical and mechanical supplies, as well as chemical, are still on standby.

Dana curls up under the piles of blankets, eyes falling shut with only the silent company of this creepy old place. Tomorrow… tomorrow is another day. Another day of her hunt for answers, and for the eventual end to this hell she's been caught in.


End file.
